She had six children – five boys and one girl.
This widow, who had lost her husband seven years ago, after seeing a mysterious broken egg on her stair case.
She lived in a compound with her neighbours. She had been living in the compound for seventeen years.
A year after she lost her husband, she woke up one morning to find yet another broken egg smashed on her wall.
Later that evening, she received the sad news. Her only daughter who was returning back from her NYSC, was involved in a ghastly motor accident that claimed her life.
She was left with five children, all boys.
She cried for several nights. She fasted for several days hoping for a change, and praying for divine protection for herself, and the rest of her children.
Six months later, she returned back from work to find two eggs broken in front of her house.
Fear gripped her. She wondered who was responsible for the broken eggs. She shouted in the compound, asked everyone around, but no one knew who was responsible.
Later that evening, her two sons, who were soldiers sent to battle insurgency in the northern part of the country, both died. They were shot and killed by the Bokoharam terrorist.
She cried like a child. Everyone called her a witch. Her husband’s family accused her of killing their son and now killing her own children.
Five months after the burial, two extra eggs were broken at the same location and spot.
She sat outside the compound and cried bitterly on seeing the eggs. Her neighbours gathered in their numbers. She pointed to the broken eggs and told them about the mysterious eggs that is usually broken on her wall. She told them that the eggs kills her children according to the number of eggs being broken.
She tried to call her two children who were in Lagos hustling. But she could not reach their numbers. Later that night, she received a phone call that her two sons, who were mistaken for robbers, were shot by the police.
All hell was broken. Her last child who was just eight years old feared for his life.
Her trials increased the more. People started avoiding her. They called her a big witch, who had eaten her five children, and drank the blood of her own husband, within a space of two years.
A concerned friend and neighbour, approached her, and told her that the situation she was facing was spiritual. She told her it was better for her to do something fast about it before it became too late for her.
“Don’t sit in silence and watch, before your last son is taken away from you, and slaughtered like a sallah cow. Spiritual war fare can only be battled spiritually. Do something. Do something.” She warned.
The neighbour suggested a strong spiritualist, who would look into the matter, and know who was responsible for the deaths of her children and also her husband.
Out of desperation and frustration, the widow abandoned her God, and sought the help of the spiritualist. She wanted to know the wicked one who was behind her misfortunes, and the death of her children and husband.
On that day, the spiritualist looked into her eyes, danced round her. He sang songs and chanted in diabolic tunes, before dipping his hands in a calabash and bringing out a white egg of a duck.
“When you get home, break this egg at the same spot where you saw other eggs. You must break this egg only at midnight when all has gone to sleep. The killer of your children will be exposed by sunrise. The killer will run mad and everyone will know who he or she is.” The spiritualist assured.
The woman thanked the spiritualist. She thanked her friend who had taken her there too. With high hopes, she woke up in the middle of the night and walked outside, carefully threading her path so as not to be seen. She smashed the egg on the same spot were other eggs were being smashed before.
Just then, three of her neighbours emerged from a hideout. They had seen her smash the eggs, and they walked quietly into their rooms without saying a word to her.
That night she couldn’t sleep. She was restless. She wondered how the neighbours had known her plans. She wished they had asked her what she was doing outside by such time, so she could explain to them. But no one asked questions. They just went in quietly to their bedroom.
The next morning, she tapped her last son, and discovered he was dead. Her last child had died in his sleep. She bursted out in a wild cry, attracting the attention of the neighbours.
The three neighbours who had seen her break an egg in the middle of the night, testified. They told stories of how eggs had been broken by her all the while, yet she claimed it was mysterious.
“If we hadn’t caught her red handed, she would have claimed it was mysteriously broken. Wicked Witch.” They cursed. “Who knows who she will kill next, now that she have killed and eaten all her children.”
When asked how they knew about the supposed plan, they explained that her friend – the same one who directed her to the spiritualist, had told them the exact time and day she had planned committing such diabolic plan. They were advised to stay up late and hide, so they could catch her in the act.
Before the widow could explain herself, a band of angry youth surrounded her and beat her up. The broke her head and smashed her face with bottles. They called her a witch, and one who needed to be burnt alive.
In the midst of this, and amidst tears, she gazed at her friend who also joined the crowd to curse at her.
Then she remembered what had happened years ago. She had a fight with that neighbour who was at that time unmarried, and had just lost her only child to a liver disease. They both threw curses at each other. Her six children who had come home for holidays, joined their angry mother to fight the neighbour, and also throw curses at her.
In the cause of the fight, the widow called her a witch who had killed her only child, and cannot get married because of her witchery and wickedness. Those biting words ended the long brawl between both women. The neighbour went into her room and cried bitterly. She cried for many days.
Weeks later, the widow approached her to ask for her forgiveness. The neighbour told her she had forgiven her and her children, and had also put everything behind her. That started up their friendship together.
Little did she know the neighbour who had turned friend, had not really forgiven her, but was planning out a bitter revenge, that would not only crumble her, but her entire house hold.
While she stared piercingly into the neighbours eyes, the neighbour stopped and smiled at her. It was a wicked smile. A smile of accomplishment. A smile that said it all. The widow was burnt alive and butchered before the police could even step in.
The person behind your pains is not a stranger. The person behind your pains knows you, and could be just your neighbour or friend. Thread carefully. Watch the friends you keep. Watch the gang you move with. Be cautious of the people you let into your life as friends. Be mindful of the people you offend in life. The heart of man is wicked.